


The Other Side

by Dedicate Kiwicrocus (cranky__crocus)



Series: SMACKDOWN '11 Round Two - Team Discipline [16]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/F, Goldenlake, smackdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Dedicate%20Kiwicrocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosethorn had never been on this side of the battle before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMACKDOWN at Goldenlake: fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com
> 
> I don't usually cry at my own writing.

Rosethorn had never been on this side of the battle before. Too many people, it seemed, feared their deaths above all else. Well, she had died once and nearly given her life in a blood-washed war; that pain was nothing on this, she thought. Her heart ached for the Lark who had stood in her shoes decades before.

            But Lark would do no standing now. Her body was frail upon her bed—the Healers had confined her there—and moved little. Anyone who entered would have assumed she was gone already. Rosie could still feel her there, though, pulse so delicate beneath her fingers where once it had matched the steady beating of a loom with the power of Lark’s tenacious love for all things _living_.

            They had whispered their final conversations already, they both knew, Rosethorn flush up against her on the bed and gentler than she ever thought she could be.

            This was the pain people should fear. This was the pain people should fight to avoid, not through power-play wars over geography and governments, but through obstinate _pacifism_ stemming from respect for life and preventing this pain where it need not be: every soldier was a child or parent or partner or friend. This was the pain of watching someone _else_ descend into the afterlife, where you knew it was not your calling to follow. If this was the pain of knowing, truly, that it was the _right_ time for a person to leave, Rosethorn could not imagine the thought of premature death.

            Lark was limber, once, and Rosethorn had loved her then. Lark was limp, now, and Rosethorn loved her still. Rosethorn told her so, in the whisper of her old wrinkled fingers caressing the skin of Lark’s hand. Rosie kissed Lark’s lips once more and could feel the barest hint of breath there, against her own.

            Lark left in that breath, and Rosethorn loved her still. She had loved the woman from the afterlife once and knew Lark was there now—tumbling with the breath of an adolescent or weaving, free of old bones and their complaints—loving her still. At least they had that comfort.

            When Rosethorn made tea, she pulled two mugs from the cupboard automatically and filled them both before she realised. In her surprise, the second fell to the floor and smashed. The tears came, then, and when Briar came to collect her, she did not refuse him.

 

 

( _“Rosie,” Lark had whispered in the dark, her voice of old book pages and dried petals. “Rosie, don’t stay strong just for me. Our family will care for you; let them care. It is what will help them most—you too, and yes, I can sense that look—and it can be our last joint gift.”_

 _Rosethorn didn’t know what to say to a dying lover, only what to say_ as _a dying lover…she swallowed. “Yes, Lark.”_

_“Rosie?”_

_“Lark.”_

_“Thank you for building me a real home. I’ll miss you. I love you.”_

_“I love you too, Lark.”_

_“Can you tell me about it, now? The afterlife. I find I’m frightened.”_

_“Don’t be,” Rosethorn assured, for she knew that Lark’s path now directed her to peace. She described the world of the afterlife the way she recalled Lark telling stories of her travels. She finished with, “You walk toward peace, and you find it.”_

_“Thank you, Rosie.” Lark’s eyes, as near-blind as they were, possessed a semblance of the old spark they once had—mischief and mirth, wrapped up in love. “Your end is harder, isn’t it? I remember. I’m sorry, Rosie; I had hoped you wouldn’t feel this.”_

_Rosie shook her head and wiped her tears, pressing her lips to Lark’s and daring not remove them far. “I can handle endless sorrow if I know you’ve reached endless peace.”_

_“And we’re old crones—it won’t be long until you’re mine again.” Lark’s lips twitched._

_“I’m yours_ anyway _, you daft bird.”_

_“Goodnight and goodbye, Rosie. I won’t see you too soon, I hope. I love you.”_

_Rosie’s words caught in her throat, but she knew she must urge them out for it was her last chance and even if Lark knew they were at the tip of her tongue, she wanted them in the layers of air between them. “Goodnight and goodbye, Lark. I love you. I’ll see you once the children have finished with me.”_

_Lark’s lips twitched again, but her words were through. She would be on her way to peace soon. Rosie hoped she could bear being on this side, bear the sorrow, before they met again._ )

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! (:


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